March 13: F$#k You, Nice and Peaceful, Same Story

WARNING:  This post contains language that may be offensive to some readers.

That's the whole trouble.  You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any.  You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose.  Try it sometime.  I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it'll say "Holden Caulfield" on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it'll say "Fuck you."  I'm positive, in fact.

Holden is right.  The world is full of "fuck yous."  You can't get away from them.  They're in schools and museums and cemeteries and churches.  Every day, I walk across the university campus, and, nine times out of ten, I will hear some student talking, sprinkling "fucks" and "fuck yous" into casual conversation.  Like Holden, I think that, when I die, someone at my funeral will be on a cell phone, whispering, "I won't be long.  I swear.  I swear.  Fuck you."

My worry this Wednesday is one that I carry around with me constantly.  Money.  Same story, different day.  My daughter is going to a dance competition in May.  She wanted to go to one last month, but we couldn't afford it.  She brought home the handout with the prices of the entry fees for the May competition last night.  Let's just say it was between "ouch" and "fuck you."  I sat on the couch, staring at the paper for about half an hour.  I could feel myself slowly slipping down the slopes of panic, but I held on and remained calm.

That's the way my life has been working for a while.  I get one bill taken care, take a deep breath to sigh with relief, and another collection note is thrust into my hands.  I've been moving from one "fuck you" to another "fuck you."  In fact, I'm surprised most invoices don't include those two words some place, as in:

Monthly Service Charge:          $2567.18
Monthly Tax:                                   420.22
Monthly Fee for Popcorn                36.13
Monthly Fee for Toilet Paper        320.15
Monthly Fee for Sleep                   543.80
TOTAL FUCK YOU                   $3887.48

I'm about ready to check into the hospital with Holden.  I can't think of anything more relaxing than having somebody tell you when to get up, eat, take your pills, make an ashtray, talk to a therapist, take some more pills, and go to bed.

Saint Marty'd be relaxed until the hospital sent him the bill, with a little note saying, "Due within ten fucking days."

This says it all...